Loop

I must have entered through the back-door, although it could have easily been the front, if I happened to looked at it that way, once, twice, thrice, or if all of us inside already chose to perceive it that way, but that was not the case, as the case may be, or must have been, and so I must have entered through the back-door, the black-door, the aging, deceased, forgotten minority of a door, even though there have been only two doors as far as I can remember, as the rest of the front and back-doors ceased to exist completely, like when you shut your eyes as tightly as possible till starshine seeps into that enveloping vacuum that floats, infinitely, infinitely, I wouldn't know, I don't know, I must have known, I must have entered through the back-door, I don't remember, I forget, I don't remember, I have forgotten all of you in the process of remembering where I have come from and how I came to be here, I have forgotten all of you for I grew fond, grew to be perhaps, perhaps too engrossed with myself, my hands, my feet, and the world around me from which you were to be rubbed off, erased, the world that I entered through the back-door, the black-door, the strong, silent, stone door, I have walked on oceans, yes, oceans deep and oceans wide, deep and wide I entered the back-door, the black-door, after which all of you were forgotten and the gaping hole that was left in my memory was filled with that back-door, that black-door, the door behind which stands a million-foot fall, I fell, I fell, I slipped away, through the back-door, the black-door, I don't think I will ever remember when we are.